The Jesus Creed for Students -- Review

THE JESUS CREED FOR STUDENTS: Loving God, Loving Others. By Scot McKnight with Chris Folmsbee and Syler Thomas. Brewster, MA: Paraclete Press, 2011. 107 pages.

What defines the Christian faith? Historically, councils, denominations, bishops, congregations, and theologians have attempted to answer that question with creeds, systemic theologies, credos, and other statements of faith. Some have been relatively brief and others have been extensive, and what’s essential to one might not be essential to another. History also shows that not everyone follows the dictum of Rupert Meldenius that in “essentials unity, in nonessentials, liberty, and in all things charity.”

An evangelical college professor (North Park University), biblical scholar, author (The Blue Parakeet, among others), and blogger (Jesus Creed), Scot McKnight has proposed an answer to this question, which he calls the Jesus Creed. That creed can be simply stated as “loving God, loving others,” which briefly restates the two great commandments established in the Pentateuch and reaffirmed by Jesus (Mk. 12:29-31). The Jesus Creed for Students takes this concept, which McKnight first developed in The Jesus Creed (Paraclete, 2004), and applies it to the needs of high school students – with the assistance of Chris Folmsbee and Syler Thomas. Folmsbee, director of a youth ministry training organization called Barefoot Ministries, and Thomas, a youth pastor in Lake Forest, IL, are credited with helping McKnight focus the book toward a younger audience than he’s probably used to working with. Thus, the concepts and basic framework are McKnight’s but the style is somewhat different from what I’ve become accustomed to as I’ve read his other work.

Being that it’s been a while since I was either a high school student or a youth minister, I decided to read this book from the perspective of a left of center Mainline Protestant pastor who’s been asked to recommend for resources for youth to use in deepening their faith. As I began to read the book, I started with the assumption that the author stands to my theological right (although I didn’t read the original Jesus Creed book, I’ve read enough of his works to get a good sense of his theology). From that standpoint, I decided that this book would be very appropriate for most Mainline Protestants. That’s not to say that it is liberal. It’s just straightforward biblically based wisdom.

The point of the book is to help high school students understand what it means to love God and love others. He does this by not only focusing his attention on the great two commandments, but also the Sermon on the Mount, which stands at the heart of this conversation. In the course of this conversation he discusses the beatitudes, wherein he distinguishes between blessedness and happiness, which he says “describes the person whose central principle is ‘love myself’” (p. 21). The discussion continues on by addressing Jesus’ expectations (Jesus’ expansion of the law) and what he calls spiritual branding, by which he means seeking to impress God and other people with our spirituality. Later chapters explore the Lord’s Prayer, forgiveness, one’s priorities in life, discipleship, and how one understands the person of Jesus. Finally, he invites the reader to be a “boundary breaker.” In this final chapter McKnight he invites the reader to consider what it means to follow Jesus by taking up a life of ministry (not professional ministry, but ministry in general), a calling that three characteristics: forgiveness, fellowship, and freedom. In the closing sentences of this chapter he suggests that “loving God and loving others is the path we are made to travel, and that when we love others genuinely, forgiveness and fellowship and freedom flow like a river” (p. 100).

Although this book could be used in a bible study, it’s really designed for personal use. McKnight invites the reader to begin each day by reciting the Jesus Creed and then recite the Lord’s Prayer each evening, so that these foundational Christian statements can penetrate the heart and mind. Again, the idea here is to establish habits (reciting the Jesus Creed in the morning and the Lord’s Prayer at bedtime) that will inform the moral vision of the young person.

Although I’m neither a youth nor a youth minister, and so I can’t speak to whether the style is appropriate to the audience, I do believe that this book should prove to be a valuable resource for helping young people develop a moral vision and a deeply rooted Christian faith, whether they’re Evangelical, Catholic, or Mainline Protestant. I might quibble with something that’s said here or there, but there’s nothing that stands out as a barrier to this being used by youth in my church. After all the premise here is to imbibe the vision that we are called to love God and love others!

This book was provided for review by Paraclete Press

 



The Pastor --Review

THE PASTOR: A Memoir.  By Eugene H. Peterson. San Francisco: Harper One, 2011. 320 pages.

I’ve been asked more than once why I’m a pastor. Some people ask this question because they’re interested in my sense of call, while others seem to want to know if I’m sane or not. Once upon a time the pastorate was an honorable and respected vocation, even if it didn’t pay all that well. In many communities the pastor was part of the educated elite and his (it was almost always a he) advice was often sought out by community leaders. Although there are exceptions, those days seem to be long gone. Much of this story is recounted in Brooks Hollifield’s God’s Ambassadors: A History of Christian Clergy in America, (Eerdmans). The lack of respect by the community and even church members, the impact on family life, the stress of being on call and in a fishbowl 24/7, along with the low pay, have led many clergy to leave the ministry for other jobs that are less stressful and sometimes more fulfilling (at least financially). Some of this story is told by Barbara Brown Taylor in Leaving Church (Harper One). Eugene Peterson wouldn’t disagree with the assessment of the ministerial life, but in his memoir, The Pastor, he seeks to lift up the vocation by sharing his own story of discerning his call to ministry and living it out in congregational life.

I think Peterson sums up well in this book the dilemma facing those who hear the call to ministry. When the call is answered, the prospective pastor takes up a vocation in which they are often “invisible six days a week” (p. 272). That is, as Peterson puts it, because “the only time most of the people in our congregations see us at work is when we are leading worship on Sundays” (pp. 273-274). They don’t see us visiting the sick, unless they are the sick ones, writing a letter, making a phone call, or when we pray.

By telling his own story, he invites the reader, especially those of us who are clergy, to reflect on the nature and purpose of vocational ministry in our age. He suggests that this book is both about how he became a pastor and how he was formed as a person by the pastorate that he experienced for nearly three decades. As one would expect with a memoir, the book is full of stories, many of which reveal something of Peterson’s character, values, and concerns. We see glimpses of his identity here and there, but he’s careful not to reveal too much. This isn’t the same kind of memoir that Stanley Hauerwas wrote in Hannah’s Child. We hear some of the pathos, but we really don’t see how the pastorate affected family life, at least not too directly. We hear about some of the joys and the heartaches, the frustrations and the successes, but he’s judicious about what he shares.

We do learn that while he grew up in a Christian family and from early on took his faith and scriptures very seriously, he never took pastors very seriously, and never contemplated taking up this calling. Perhaps that’s because most of the pastors he encountered in the Assemblies of God church of his youth were came and went from his church in the small Montana town of his youth, or it might be because his father didn’t hold them in high regard. There was one preacher who did catch his ear, and that was his mother who sang, told bible stories, and preached to the men of the nearby logging and mining camps, at least until she was silenced because of her gender. Although not having any good role models or encouragement, he finds in his parents the kinds of resources that he would later draw upon, including a biblical imagination. Indeed, he credits his work in his father’s butcher’s shop for giving him a sense of the way religious life transpires. He was also formed by his education, much of which, at least early on, came from time spent at the local Carnegie Library, where he encountered writers from Kant to Dickinson. He would go on to university and study literature and philosophy, and later, still not sensing the call to the pastorate, he went to seminary in New York, and while in seminary he became a Presbyterian. What really drove Peterson was his love of learning, but the only school that rivaled the Carnegie library was John Hopkins University, where he studied Semitics under William Foxwell Albright.

His sense of calling changed after meeting his future wife, Jan. At the time they met, Peterson was studying Semitics intent on an academic career, but Jan harbored a sense of calling to be a “pastor’s wife,” and it was her sense of calling that led him to reconsider his own calling. After serving for a time as an associate minister, he answered a call to be the founding pastor of a new congregation in Bel Aire, Maryland. Being that this was the late 1950s, it grew rather quickly even though it met for two years in the basement of his house. He would serve this congregation until moving on to Regent College.

The bulk of the book tells the story of the experiences, both positive and negative, that he had as pastor of this congregation. We hear about the successes of the building project and the “Badlands” that emerged post-building-project. He tells about encounters with parishioners and fellow clergy, including the ecumenical colleague group he met with for much of his ministry. We also learn about the struggles he had in trying to free his own congregation from grasp of American culture. He also tells how he integrated his writing into his broader ministry – something that is of great interest to me. I found it interesting that one of the clues for him that it was time to move on from the pastorate was discovering that he hadn’t written anything for a considerable period of time.

As he tells his own story he identifies a number of challenges that we all face in responding to this call to pastoral ministry. Among these challenges is the perception that leaders are people who get things done, and therefore the job of the pastor is to get things done. While it is true that there are things to be done, this isn’t the core of the pastoral calling, which is call attention to what is happening in the relationships of people with each other and with God. The vocation of pastoral ministry is something that “can’t be measured or counted, and often isn’t even noticed” (p. 5). This statement reminds me of the futility of enumerating ministry, as if God rewards pastors for the number of “calls” made. That isn’t meant to excuse sloth, it just is a reminder that ministry is more than numbers.

Peterson offers us a book full of much needed wisdom that is written with eloquence befitting an author of his stature. Still, and as much as I found this to be an important book for clergy to read, I also came away with mixed feelings. It’s hard to put my finger on what troubles me, but I think it might be tone. That is, while he’s telling his own story, at times I found the tone to be condescending and perhaps overly-spiritualized – almost as if he is using his story as a typology for how ministry should be engaged in. Perhaps that disdain with which he held pastors prior to his own call seeps in at points, of course, this could be more about me than Peterson. Still, there’s something about the tone of the book didn’t always sit well with me. That said, I still think this is a must read for clergy – and maybe for the churches they serve.

Article first published as Book Review: The Pastor by Eugene H. Peterson on Blogcritics.

Part-Time Pastor, Full-Time Church, by Robert LaRochelle | The Christian Century

My Christian Century review is up of Part-Time Pastor, Full-Time Church, by Robert LaRochelle The Christian Century.

To give you a taste, here is how it starts:

A majority of congregations in the United States average fewer than 100 in attendance. While some congregations manage to employ a full-time minister with the requisite M.Div. and standing in their denomination, many others can't afford this desirable arrangement. And many congregations that currently have a full-time pastor sense that the time is coming when they'll have to downsize their expectations for full-time pastoral leadership. This is especially disconcerting for mainline Protes­tantism, which prizes an educated ministry. Many congregations wonder if they can continue to be a vital full-time church if all they can afford is a part-time pastor.

Robert LaRochelle's Part-Time Pastor, Full-Time Church is an answer to the prayers of all those concerned about the future of the small church, whether they're denominational officials charged with helping congregations find pastors, local church leaders looking for ways to provide effective leadership or seminaries needing to offer appropriate educational opportunities for clergy called to bivocational ministry. In addition, this book is a gift to clergy considering such a call.

LaRochelle is a current practitioner of what he preaches—he serves as a bivocational pastor of a small United Church of Christ congregation while working full-time as a high school guidance counselor. Beyond this experience, LaRochelle draws upon the years he spent as an ordained deacon in the Roman Catholic Church. This earlier role provided him with important insights about training and about how pastors can fulfill expectations of congregations when they are also employed outside the church.  (to continue reading, click here). 

Banned Questions of the Bible -- Review

BANNED QUESTIONS OF THE BIBLE. Banned Questions Series. Christian Piatt, et al. St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2011. 216 pages.

Is it impertinent to ask questions of the Bible? The answer to that question, in the minds of many, who view the Bible as divinely authored or a divinely-given book, is that it would be best to not ask too many questions, especially questions as to whether there are contradictions, errors, or the like. Questions of authorship can also get you in trouble, as are questions concerning whether some parts of the Bible are of greater value or authority than others. Yes, the best thing to do, when it comes to questions about the bible to stick with the tried and true, because to do otherwise will likely lead you down the slippery slope toward apostasy and perhaps even perdition. Because as you have heard, if the Bible is wrong in one place, then the house of cards is likely to fall down upon us. Thus, nothing good can come from asking impertinent questions. Fortunately there are those who are not afraid of testing the waters and poking at shibboleths that others deem sacred. It is fortunate because there are many questions to be asked.

One of those impertinent persons is Christian Piatt, who by his own testimony faced the wrath of a thoroughly frustrated Sunday School teacher. As a youth, Christian writes, the Sunday school teacher became so bedeviled by his incessant questioning of traditional interpretations that the teacher threw a Bible at his head. What he learned from this encounter was that the church isn’t necessarily a safe place to ask questions about the faith. Upon discovering that reality, Christian, like many others, left “organized religion” behind until he found a community that not only tolerated but respected his questions. Having returned to the church, he even ended up married to a Disciples of Christ pastor. Further, Chalice Press even offered him the opportunity to develop a book series that would allow others to wrestle with the same kinds of questions that he had been raising. This book, Banned Questions of the Bible, which Christian edits and facilitates is the inaugural volume of this Banned Questions series.

Since the point of the series is lifting up the kinds of questions that many consider to be taboo, it should not surprise readers to learn that when one reaches the end of the book they may still have questions. The point of the book isn’t to resolve all the questions, but instead to provide a resource so that whether in groups or as individuals people can wrestle with issues that trouble heart and mind. The point, therefore, isn’t the answers, but the conversation. As a result Christian Piatt provides a starting point for creating safe places to discuss important issues, not just relating to faith, but every aspect of life that religion, and in this case, the Bible touch, whether that be sexuality, science, government, and more.

There are, in all, fifty questions that receive attention in this book. Many are provocative and even controversial, but not all. What is important one person, might not be important to another. The whole point of asking questions, is asking questions that matter to you as a seeker after God. The questions range from matters of translation, canonicity, interpretation and authority to specific issues such as human sexuality, politics, and salvation. What makes this particular book somewhat unique is the way that the editor utilizes a group of writers to take up the questions. Not every writer addresses every question, and some questions receive greater attention than others. No rationale is provided as to why this is so, but one can speculate if that seems useful.

Piatt, who is a writer/editor and an active leader in the church his spouse pastors, draws from a group that includes clergy, seminary professors, writers, and lay leaders. There are liberals and evangelicals (mostly moderate and not overly conservative). There is a good balance of males and females, though as far as ethnicity, that is more difficult to gauge as there are no pictures of the writers! Overall, the writers are younger, but even here there appears to be variety. There is humor present in the book, but the authors take their topics seriously and respectfully.

There are differences of perspective here, but the one thing that seems to link them together is their view of God. At the very end of the book one will find the Baylor God Image Survey, which lifts up four different ways in which people envision the nature of God. That is, do they see God as authoritarian, benevolent, critical, or distant. Readers are invited to take the survey and see where they stand in regards to God, and then see where the authors come down. What is interesting is that with just a few exceptions they all show a preference for a Benevolent God. Only one writer doesn’t make benevolence at least tied for the top spot. . So, maybe that embrace of a benevolent God gave these writers the necessary “courage” to deal with questions many Christians would rather not discuss.

The format of the book is quite simple. A question is posed and several possible answers are provided. Some questions receive more responses than others. After the responses are presented, Christian provides selected Scripture references, suggestions for reading, and then questions for further discussion. Standing between the fifty questions/answers and the Baylor God Image survey is a section that allows the writers to define themselves for the reader. You’ll find information about their background, the kinds of books and resources that they find valuable, favorite quotes, and five things that they think would make the world better.

So, why should one pick up this book? We could start with the fact that it provides a place to start for those who have questions and might feel intimidated from asking them. You might have other questions beyond those asked here, but this provides a starting point. For the church it serves as a reminder that the church should be a safe place to ask questions. We shouldn’t have a bible thrown at our heads or our faces slapped because we ask questions or express doubts about long held doctrines. The book is also helpful in that it provides groups with a resource to discuss these kinds of questions – possibly using the answers along with the discussion questions. Because there are fifty questions, groups might decide to pick a few and focus on them.

Being that I was reading this with a review in mind, I tried to read it from cover to cover, but I’m not sure that is the best way to engage the book. I would recommend perusing the table of contents and then pick those questions that seem most pertinent (or perhaps most impertinent) to you the reader. Or you might use it for a “weekly devotional” time, though it would be a most unusual devotional book. Preachers might get some ideas here for a sermon or two. The possibilities are endless, and since this is only the first book in the series, we’ll have other opportunities to wrestle with questions that dog the church! So, by all means, check out this book!

Devil's Ink -- Review

DEVIL’S INK: Blog from the Basement Office. By Jeffrey C. Pugh. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2011. Xiv +193 pages.

Many years ago C.S. Lewis wrote a book entitled The Screwtape Letters, which was supposedly a collection of letters written by the Devil to his minions offering guidance on how to deal with the “enemy.” One of the most famous quotations from the Lewis book warns against two opposing errors:

There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them. They themselves are equally pleased by both errors and hail a materialist or a magician with the same delight.

Nearly seventy years after Lewis wrote The Screwtape Letters, Jeffrey Pugh has written Devil’s Ink, which takes inspiration from Lewis even if the format and theology might be different. Whereas Lewis used the letter as the basis of his exploration of the problem of evil in the world, Pugh makes use of the blog, a more modern form of communication.

The author of this book is ostensibly the Devil, but you might say that the Devil has a ghost writer in Jeffrey Pugh, a professor of religious studies at Elon University in North Carolina and author of several books, including one on Dietrich Bonhoeffer. The Devil’s posts offer advice and direction to the Devil’s minions as they work to undermine the efforts of the Enemy – God – and the Body (Christ).

As for the author’s purpose, Pugh takes up this particular form of communication to help contemporary Christians wrestle with the problem of evil, especially as evil seeks to co-opt the church and its people. Although Lewis is an influence on this book, Pugh has done more than simply change the format. His picture of the Devil has had to change, because our understanding of evil has changed over the past seven decades. The starting point for this book is revealed in a rather succinct way in a sentence found in the opening paragraphs of the book: “Devil’s Ink explores how evil arises in stealthy ways in popular culture” (p. xi). But, not only does he want to shine a light on the presence of evil within popular culture, he wants to raise the specter of evil gaining access to the church through popular culture – and we’re not just talking about going to movies and listening to Rock & Roll. No, we’re talking about the way that, for instance, American culture can impact the way the church sees itself and acts in the world.

In the opening blog post “the Devil” reveals that he has chosen this format because it’s important to be “flexible and innovative or we risk losing influence.” Then he goes on to say that “if there is one thing that I fear, it is losing influence” (p. 1). As we hear this word, it’s important to remember that the audience of this book is the church, not the minions of Satan. Thus, right off the bat we’re challenged to consider how easy it is for evil to get a foothold in the church, not to mention the nation in which we live. Thus, in this “introductory post” we’re warned about the dangers of seeking influence over others, for that is the “Devil’s” game. He notes he could have used Facebook or Twitter, but the blog seemed to be the best forum, and as you read the book you will agree that the blog makes the most sense for this kind of work. The postings are, for the most part, relatively long – often covering two or more pages. There is depth here that other forms of communication can’t offer. As an aid to understand the meaning of the posting, the author provides tags, which are then explained in a glossary at the end of the book. These are revealing in and of themselves.

As to how to read the book, Pugh notes that it’s best not to try to read this all at once. Remember you’re reading posts from the Devil, so take it in small bites. And as a further reminder about how this book is to be read, the Devil notes that the Minions of Hell must make sure not to let this information leak out to the enemy – “So none of you better go all Julian Assange on me or I will have you for lunch –literally” (p. 3).

The Devil begins with several postings on desire, which he says is “truly one of the best instruments in our toolbox,” (p. 5) and then moves on to such issues as suffering, the desire for control over one’s life and the lives of others, the dangers of religion and government becoming intertwined, for as the title of one blog post puts it – “Play in Caesar’s Ballpark, Play by Caesar’s Rules" – suffering and theodicy, allegiances, money, fear, terrorism, spirituality, grace and justice, torture and science, and more. There are really very few issues that don’t warrant some comment.

As for point of view – the one that lies behind the Devil’s words of advice – Jeffrey Pugh seems to be of a Hauerwasian perspective. There is a strong sense of the importance of community, and as with Hauerwas a strong suspicion of the effects of government/political entanglements. Thus, he writes that “it works best for us when they confuse the need for order with the existence of the state” (p. 86). A few paragraphs later he writes, revealingly:

The citizens of the state invest it with the power to regulate persons so they might be secure. But in order to protect them from one another, the state must assume increasing control of their lives. What starts out as something that seems so innocent will eventually end up just where we hope – in absolute control and dominance of their bodies, and if all goes well, their souls (p. 87).

But, while government ultimately is useful to control the soul of the person, it is not alone in its ability to use violence for its own purposes – religions have shown themselves quite able and willing to resort to violence to pursue their own purposes.

In each post, the Devil reminds us that we are susceptible to influences that are cunning and resourceful. One needn’t fear the presence of a demon hiding out under every rock, but one should be and discerning and perceptive. As Jesus said, you should be as innocent as doves and wise as serpents. In the end, however, the point of contention is not the presence of the Devil, but our perception of God’s absence. The “truth of this story” concerns the reality that what drives our modern world is the fact that humanity lives as if God is absent. And thus, this means that humanity falls into the waiting hands of the Devil. He writes:

What is even better, from our perspective, is that the gods they do create in their religions to justify their orders are locked in violent struggle with one another. Many of them think that the other’s deity is a threat to their worlds. They may be right (p. 168).

Thus, whether we live as if God doesn’t exist or use our religions to justify violence, either way the Devil wins!

As Lewis noted, we need to stay away from the two extremes – one in which we focus all our attention on finding the demons under the rocks and on the other hand living as if evil is not even present. The truth is, evil is present and it does on too many occasions find its way into the life of the church. Thus, even if one doesn’t find every posting to be of relevance or in accord with one’s own perspectives, most readers will find much of value in these relatively brief postings.

The author has taken great pains to root these postings in a cogent and coherent theological foundation, and as for the Devil, whether or not you believe in a spiritual-physical being known as Satan (the Devil), I believe that you will find this to be a worthwhile read. That issue is rather beside the point, because in this particular book, the Devil serves as a personification of the kinds of evil that we face in our daily lives. In fact, by focusing on the “physicality” of the Devil, would likely lead us astray and keep us from hearing a word directed to ourselves. Thus, if you choose to read this book, you will experience something that is entertaining and innovative, while be exceedingly serious as well. If Lewis provided the church with a classic text in the 1940s, perhaps this will be a new classic for decades to come.

Article first published as Review: Devil's Ink: Blog from the Basement Office by Jeffrey C. Pugh. on Blogcritics.

Falling Upward --- Review

FALLING UPWARD: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life.  By Richard Rohr.  San Francisco:  Jossey-Bass, 2011.  Xxxix + 183 pp.

In the Book of Hebrews the call is given to “press on to maturity, by moving on from the basics about Christ’s word” (Heb. 6:1 CEB). The reason why this word of wisdom is given to the readers of this sermon/letter is that the author recognized how easy it is to get stuck on the basics and never move on to spiritual maturity. A similar word of wisdom is present in Falling Upward, an exquisitely written book from the pen of Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest with Emergent Church connections. Rohr offers a gentle but firm reminder that although it’s appropriate to start the spiritual journey by focusing on security and identity, but there comes a time when we must move beyond the protective fences and engage the world in which we live through the Spirit of God.

Rohr uses the image of life’s two halves. In the first half of life, which needn’t be defined purely in terms of age, we focus on the foundations and create a container for life’s questions. From there, after we’ve taken care of these basic elements of the faith journey, then we are ready to fill the container with content. Often, in the first half of life, we live with either/or categories. But, staying put in this first stage of life means that our containers remain largely empty and ill-defined. We live in a sort of perpetual adolescence. It’s fine to be an adolescent for a while, but not forever, but unfortunately the church often does little to challenge this adolescence. As Rohr notes, many of the sermons he has heard over his long life never move beyond this first level. Indeed, if a preacher does challenge these sacred foundations, that person will likely be considered “heretical, dangerous, or ill advised” (p. 7).

If, however, we’re going to experience spiritual maturity, or what Rohr calls the second half of life (something that many people never achieve), then we must be ready to leave the comfort of the black and white and risk living with a both/and dynamic. To move into the second half of life we must be comfortable with change and willing be stretched beyond our comfort zones. Indeed, we need to be aware of the trap of worshiping the status quo. Thus, like Abraham and Sarah, we must be willing and ready to leave home and head out for an undiscovered country.

Whereas the first half of life involves providing a safe context to explore one’s faith and identity, as well as learning the traditions, part of this life process involves having the opportunity to fall. In a word to parents – spiritual and otherwise – Rohr writes:

"We are not helping our children by always preventing them from what might be necessary falling, because you learn how to recover from falling, by falling! . . . People who have never allowed themselves to fall are actually off balance, while not realizing it at all. That is why they are so hard to live with." (p. 28).

Having learned to fall and then get back up in the first half of life, we’re prepared to move outward and face the realities of life beyond the fence. That includes our ability to experience and understand the value of suffering, which is one of the key themes in this book. The point is not that we should pursue suffering, as if we have a martyr’s complex, but that we recognize that enduring suffering enables us to move forward in life. Indeed, the truth is, there must be death, before there is life.

One of the reasons why we get stuck in the first half of life is that we’ve been led to believe that the world operates much like Plato described. It’s a matter of forms and ideas. We expect the world to operate in an orderly fashion, so we find it difficult to deal with reality. He suggests that in many ways Plato is more influential on the way the church thinks than is Jesus – I think he’s right. Consider this word:

"We invariably prefer the universal synthesis, the answer that settles all the dust and resolves every question – even when it is not entirely true – over the mercy and grace of God." (p. 56)

In making this statement, he raises the question of postmodernism, which challenges the possibility of constructing metanarratives that can explain everything. There simply are no such things, but we like simple answers, and so we hold out for these metanarratives, which always fail to deliver.

When we move into the second half of life we are better able to see that Jesus doesn’t offer us a one-size-fits-all gospel. Instead, Rohr suggests that Jesus offers us a vision of reality in which “God adjusts to the vagaries and failures of the moment. The ability to adjust to human disorder and failure is named God’s providence or compassion” (p. 56). As we move beyond the first half understandings where rules come first, we discover in the second half of life that God is less concerned about laws and more about the relationship. Thus, the ability to move forward is to embrace God’s unconditional forgiveness.

The spiritual journey is driven, according to Rohr, by a sense of homesickness. We move on into the second half of life because of spiritual restlessness and dissatisfaction with the status quo. Of course, for many, if not most of us, the fear of the unknown keeps us from moving out into the world to address this restless, which moves us toward union with God. Drawing from St. Augustine, he suggests that “we are created with an inner drive an necessity that sends all of us looking for our True Self, whether we know it or not. This journey is a spiral and never a straight line” (p. 94).

The journey toward the second half of life leads us through complexity and paradox to a new simplicity or unified field, where the painful and excluded parts of parts life brought into a unified picture (but not a metanarrative). The real tragedy in life is that so few can make this journey. The tragedy of so many elderly people never becoming elders may be due to the fact that they themselves had never been eldered or mentored. Thus,

"Such people seem to have missed out on the joy and clarity of the first simplicity, perhaps avoided the interim complexity, and finally lost the great freedom and magnanimity of the second simplicity as well." (p. 114).

This is one of the key elements of this reflection on the movement toward spiritual maturity – age itself is no marker of maturity. Some who are young have been able to move into spiritual maturity, while some who are quite elderly remain spiritually immature.

The journey into maturity requires us to honor the needs of the first half of life – identity formation and security – while providing room to move into the second half. There is a tension here, but if we’re able to keep this tension then there will be an opportunity to grow wisdom. But, as is clear from the book, none of this is easy. It will likely involve endurance of suffering and pain, of overcoming obstacles, and maybe even hitting bottom before climbing back up toward union with God.

The benefits, however, are wonderful. There may be sadness, but there will be less anxiety and fear, and thus openness to others. What you may have avoided in the first half of life, in the second half becomes your friend and teacher. And, this should come as no surprise, considering this perspective, Jesus would have been and is, a “second-half-of-life man,” but as Rohr points out he had the “unenviable task of trying to teach and be understood by a largely first-half-of-life history, church, and culture” (p. 149). Alas, the choice of moving into the second-half-of-life is ours to make or not. Indeed, to be ordinary is not really a choice, but to move on to something extraordinary is a choice. The question is – are we ready to make that choice?

For the most part we Christians are content to live inside the comfortable confines of the institution and the tradition. We’re not too eager to ask questions or wrestle with doubt and despair. So, the numbers of people who take the journey toward maturity, and thus union with God are few in number. The road is narrow, and thus we prefer the wide and smooth highways. But, if we’re willing to follow the path that Rohr sets out, there will be blessings to be found – though may be not the riches that some would promise.

Although this is really first real engagement with Richard Rohr, I found him to be a trustworthy guide to the spiritual life. As I read the book I was forced to examine my own journey and thus wonder whether I had moved beyond the first half and into the second. This is definitely a book to be read and pondered and digested, but if one chooses to do so and truly imbibe its wisdom, there will be spiritual transformation.

Article first published as Book Review: Falling Upward by Richard Rohr on Blogcritics.

What's the Least I Can Believe and Still Be a Christian -- Review

“WHAT’S THE LEAST I CAN BELIEVE AND STILL BE A CHRISTIAN?” A Guide to What Matters Most. By Martin Thielen. Louisville: WJK Press, 2011. X + 157 pp.

I’m an ordained minister in a non-creedal denomination that has from its origins embraced the principles espoused in Rupert Meldinius’ motto – “In essentials unity, in non-essentials liberty, and in all things liberty.” It is also a tradition whose founders embraced the principles John Locke espoused in his books The Reasonableness of Christianity and A Letter Concerning Toleration, wherein he suggested that the church should not make any terms of communion beyond those that “the Holy Spirit has in the holy Scriptures declared in express words to be necessary to salvation” (Locke, Toleration, Prometheus Books, p. 24). Coming as I do from a tradition that has embraced what some might call a simple faith, one that leaves significant room for opinion in matters of faith; I didn’t find the title of Martin Thielen’s book odd or off-putting. In fact, it resonates quite well with my sensibilities, though I have to admit that I’ve heard some in my tradition who have claimed that one can be a member of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), and pretty much believe whatever you want. Although that assessment is too minimalist even for Disciples, I expect that a United Methodist pastor would have a more expansive set of necessary doctrines than would a Disciple, and a perusal of this book would bear out this expectation.

The title of the book does leave one with the sense that the author might be espousing a rather minimalist faith, but that would be a misreading of the book. The author is a United Methodist pastor who left the Southern Baptists after the fundamentalist takeover of the Southern Baptist Convention. That decision was brought on by the feeling that he no longer fit within the church in which he had grown up, been educated, and had served as a pastor, educator, and publisher. Ultimately he would find himself serving as pastor of First United Methodist Church of Lebanon, Tennessee.

In a book that is written for a lay/general audience, and that would be very useful for an adult education program (an online leader’s guide is available from the publisher), the author offers what this reviewer would consider a broad, middling, moderate understanding of the Christian faith. Although the book might seem liberal to some, it will seem rather conservative to others, and yet it lifts up for discussion issues that tend to divide and confuse contemporary Christians.

The book is broken into two parts, the first of which lifts up ten issues that “Christians don’t need to believe,” while the second part focuses on eleven items that he believes Christians should believe – what he would consider essentials. At the end of each chapter Thielen places a brief summary statement – what he calls the “bottom line.” So, for instance in the chapter in which he deals with women in the church, his bottom line is: “Women are fully equal with men in marriage, in church, and in society” (p. 23).

The first section of the book focuses on ten “don’ts,” which aren’t merely non-essentials. Instead, for the most part these are perspectives that one would best reject, either because the misrepresent God or they reflect an anti-intellectual perspective that is best left behind by modern Christians. These topics include the suggestion that God causes things like cancer, car wrecks, and catastrophes, as well as the suggestion that real Christians won’t have doubts about their faith, believe in evolution, or think that women can’t be preachers. In a brief opening paragraph to this section, Thielen takes us back to the old gospel song that declared “Gimme That Old-Time Religion.” He suggests that while much of that old time religion might be good or noble, it could also be downright dangerous to the body, to the mind, and to the Spirit. Not only did it give us the Crusades, the Inquisition and religious wars, it also oppressed women, supported slavery, and suppressed science. There are, therefore, aspects of the old form of our religion that we’d be better off casting aside.

The second part of the book focuses on eleven things the author thinks you do need to believe – what he considers essentials or the “least I can believe and still be a Christian.” These are the areas of the faith that he believes matter most. Being that this is written for Christians it should not be surprising that the focus is on Jesus, beginning with what some call the “good confession” (Matthew 16:16), and deals as well with issues such as grace, the presence of God, Jesus’ example, his death and resurrection, the church, the Holy Spirit, and God’s vision of the future. The final “essential” seeks to answer the question as to whether mainline Christians believe in salvation. He insists they do, but he wants to clarify what that means.

This is a good little book that should be of value to many in the church. It might be used as an introduction to the Christian faith for those exploring the faith or who have questions about the Christian faith. It could also provide a foundation to needed conversations about what is important and not important to the life of the church. Although the book is written with Mainline Protestants in mind, at times I felt like Thielen was trying to convince the more conservative elements of his Baptist past of a better way forward. That may explain the moderate and even evangelical tone of the book. This tone is especially present in the final chapter of the book, which seeks to answer the question: “Do Mainline Christians believe in getting saved?” Now the answer to this question is framed in a more progressive fashion – it depends on what you think we’re being saved from or for, but the mere phrasing of the question in this way seems to address concerns among a more conservative audience. This isn’t meant as a criticism; it’s just meant to demonstrate the perspective that’s evidenced in the book.

Ultimately what we have here is a gentle, moderate, Christocentric faith, one that represents the perspective of a large portion of Mainline Protestantism. Thus, the author supports women in ministry, a commitment to social justice, an intellectually engaged faith that embraces evolution, while taking a more middle of the road approach to homosexuality. On this issue he points out that this is an area upon which not all mainliners agree, but suggests that the best description of the current climate is “welcoming but not affirming.” In that chapter, the author doesn’t take a strong position, but you get the sense that he falls into the majority view (though being open to conversation).

While this isn’t a perfect book, and really doesn’t break new ground, I sense that it will prove to be useful to the church.  This is true in large part because Thielen reminds us that we should focus on those things that matter most, rather than focusing on the tangentials that tend to divide and rarely edify.

A View from the Back Pew -- A Response to a Review

I recently offered up a review of Tim O'Donnell's book A View from the Back Pew.  As I read it, I saw in the book a representative voice from within what many call the "spiritual but not religious" group.   Of course the "spiritual but not religious" is not a cohesive movement, but simply a way to describe those who wish to claim the spiritual without aligning with institutional forms of religion.  I also saw in the book signs of frustration with the institution (Roman Catholicism in particular) and signs of gnosticism.  Tim has offered up a generous response to my critque, and I am posting it below.  My hope is that this can provide a forum for conversation between those of us still within the "spiritual and religious" community and those who find the religious part problematic.  So, I invite you to read and respond to Tim's response to my review.

*************************************

Hello Pastor Bob,

I come to you here for two reasons: one, you seemed to invite this feedback and I do not want to ignore your call; and two, your review was very powerful to me.

First though, I want to thank you for the time you devoted to reading, considering and writing such a thoughtful review of A View from the Back Pew. Yours is among the most intelligent and meaningful commentary on the book to date; comments that have me thinking a great deal to be sure.

But while I'm here now I want to acknowledge a few of your very insightful and illuminating points.

First, I thank you for being big enough to get past critiquing my (lack of) formal theological training. You'd whip my butt in that arena; you know it and I do to. It takes a very secure and intelligent person to elevate the discussion to where I hoped to take it to begin with. A debate can become circular if it's simply tit-for-tat. You say you didn't want to appear defensive - I doubt you would have but you gain much respect from me for seeing bigger issues to take me to task on - good for you! And, I think good for the discussion.

Your criticism is fair that after my conclusions about Catholicism were drawn, I might have investigated Protestantism more intensely. I didn't get much into this in the book - true, but in reality, had I written more about this, the book would have gone in another direction entirely and frankly, there are many books examining the schism and narrating conversions one way or the other; I would probably not add to the discussion. In retrospect, I at times grouped "Christianity" and "Catholicism" in the same big box and to a learned theologian such as you, I see how it might have aggravated you. But still, I detect patience on your part - maybe because you understood this, maybe you're just giving me a pass or maybe you still had your eye on a bigger fish to fry. (I suspect the latter and again, you demonstrate tremendous patience and insight)

Now - Gnosticism. I state in the book "I'm not a modern day Gnostic or anything like that". You suggest otherwise and I accept your point as valid. Although I wouldn't describe myself as such, that doesn't mean I'm necessarily right. In layman's terms gnosis is knowledge from within - agreed? And, I do think certain spiritual truth is found within us all if we're open to finding it - so, guilty as charged. However, the reason I do not ascribe the label of "Gnostic" to myself is because I believe every human has the capacity to discover this knowledge through the individual connection we all have to God. I do not think there is a "select" and special elite group who possess such knowledge as the ancient Gnostics believed.

I take Jesus at his word when he claims the "kingdom of heaven is within" and I believe he invited us all on a journey inside to find our own divine connection. One other point I'll make on this topic is that the Gnostic Gospels did not influence me. Although I read them and quote them in the book, my contention that we can find truth from within is very organic. As you'll recall, I began to move in this personal, internal direction long before I ever encountered the Gnostic Gospels. They did serve to confirm some of my organic belief about gnosis, but I reject Gnosticism based on its elitist tendency, as I believe Jesus to be the ultimate egalitarian. However, your point is well taken.

As you know, my thesis is that Jesus preaches heaven as a "state of being" and not a "place of being". But, you're not the only person to accuse me of being a Gnostic so I must consider the implication of the charge. (Here again, we get into labels and languages, which you also know, are problems and limitations I point out in the book.) At any rate, I accept your criticism as honest and without malice. You've made me think.

I think your larger commentary is about the "spiritual but not religious 'movement'" of which you sort of make me an ad hoc or default leader of. Again, you make me think. Although this is not what I set out to become, if it places me in a discussion with intelligent, open minded leaders of institutional belief systems like you, I'd be privileged to carry that torch.

I assume you understand that the evolution of divine and/or spiritual articulation is what I believe modern man craves and I can only (at least in my first book) point to the lack of overall theological evolution as the culprit. Simply put, I think we have the capacity to comprehend deeper theology than that represented in two thousand year old doctrine (and dogma). I'm not suggesting God evolves (or that truth is relative) - only that we are evolving and our theology should be too.

(I understand too, that you might say, "Protestantism reflects evolution of Christian theology" and offer examples of differences; I might then say, "yeah, but not enough" and offer examples of lack of differences and we'd be on that circular path that leads nowhere. This is why I appreciate your decision to not nit-pic. Your angle keeps the dialogue intellectually straightforward - the only direction that offers progress. There are certain points along the way to a bigger understanding that we can agree that we disagree.)

I'm honored, touched and impressed by the last two paragraphs of your review. The maturity you display about actually looking at why people might "strike out on their own" is the type of enlightened leadership that gives me hope that it isn't too late. If I were speaking for this "movement" I'd say "Hooray for Pastor Bob! We need to include him in our discussion!"

(The reality though Bob is that it is unlikely that any "movement" is afoot as yet. Why? Paradoxically, lack of an organization! Yes, I see the irony. This is great fun - no?)

If what you say is true about someone like me pushing the pendulum too far, I'd respond by saying real change never seems to happen in the middle of the road - especially with large, ancient institutions. (Sorry for the mixed metaphor but you've got me excited!)

Lastly, the biggest reason for hope is another point you bring up - community. Nobody really wants to strike out on his or her own - not totally. But those with integrity and the courage of their conviction (read stubborn) will sacrifice community for a stronger connection to God. To some, probably as you point out, an increasing number, the overpowering desire for a direct connection to God feels ultimately more imperative than the very natural human need for community. Community can be found in other parts of society. God can't. To those who believe God resides within, the institution as intercessor can be seen as an unnatural impediment to this personal relationship -especially if the doctrine of that institution rings ancient and not fully developed.

This opens up a whole other line of discussion that I'll save for another time. Plus, I think this is what your most interested in discussing so I'll leave it in your capable hands to move this part of the discussion forward if you choose.

I've taken up too much of your space here but it would be remiss of me not to respond to such an intelligent, thoughtful leader such as yourself. I hope your congregation feels lucky to have you leading them.

Thanks again for reviewing A View from the Back Pew - I'm truly proud to have you among the growing body of readers. This little book is striking a nerve - I (and the book) have been called many things in the month since it came out - some wonderful acclaim I do not deserve and some demonization I suspect I don't either. I'll gladly accept both if it makes people think and then begin a dialogue.

You represent equanimity and fairness that actually makes me think it could make a difference - I sincerely thank you for that. You are one of the good guys!  I hope to keep our dialogue alive.

Thanks again,

Tim O'Donnell, Author

A View from the Back Pew

http://timodonnell.org/

A View from the Back Pew -- Review

A VIEW FROM THE BACK PEW: God, Religion & Our Personal Quest for Truth. By Tim O’Donnell. Kansas City, MO: Linchpin Publishing, 2011. Xiv + 264 pages.

More and more people are identifying themselves as “spiritual but not religious.” This new category of religious people is comprised mostly of people who believe in God or at least some “higher power,” but are either dissatisfied with institutional religion or have been hurt by it. They like God, just not the institution. This “new” breed of spiritually-inclined people tends to be eclectic, though their understandings of spirituality often reflect aspects of whatever tradition they may have been born into. In this new age of spirituality, where religious observance and institutional membership aren’t required or expected people feel free to strike out on their own, picking and choosing from among the various religious offerings. In this new world of spirituality, there is no central authority, but because of the entrepreneurial spirit that is inherent in this new age, one can either choose to be one’s own spiritual authority or attach oneself to one of the many spiritual guides who have emerged in the age of new media. Ultimately, in this age of spiritual eclecticism the individual is the final arbiter of truth.

Tim O’Donnell’s apparently self-published book A View From the Back Pew offers readers a personal memoir of a spiritual journey that reflects this new spirit. The author is a business entrepreneur, former newspaper publisher, and most importantly is a former Roman Catholic. He writes about the journey he took from a rather traditional Roman Catholic upbringing, which included the requisite run-ins with narrow minded and physically abusive Nuns to the realization that he was free to embrace the God within. In large part this book is a product of what O’Donnell calls “The Deal,” a pact he made with God while a college student studying in Rome. He had a spiritual experience that led him to abandon college and pursue his fortune, which he would then use to serve God. When the Roman Church seemingly didn’t have much use for his gift, once he had made his fortune, he chose to strike out on his own and use his fortune to tell his story.

The book itself alternates between stories from his life that carry him to the point at which he could share his sense of the life in the Spirit, with his reflections on the nature of this life – including sharing his own doctrinal perspectives. In the epilogue O’Donnell provides the window by which the journey can be evaluated. The title of the book comes from a more recent experience in Rome, where he is sitting in the back pew of the chapel where he had worshiped as a college student. At that moment, he realized that “one could come to communion with God from within. In a rush of overwhelming understanding, I knew the Church was a man made institution that could not deliver a man to where God really dwelt” (p. 256).

As you read this book you can’t help but sympathize with his struggles, though as a Protestant I have to be careful not to embrace too eagerly a negative portrayal of the Roman Catholic Church (Protestants have been known to do this). But while I can understand why O’Donnell felt hemmed in by the institutional forces of religion, I also found myself needing to raise questions.

Although I could critique this book on theological and historical grounds that wouldn’t seem to make much sense. That critique might sound defensive, and I’m not sure the author would find my critique all that compelling. So, for the most part I’ll leave those issues alone. What I would like to do is raise some questions about tendencies I see in the “spiritual but not religious” movement, which are exemplified in this book, that do concern me.

I’ll start with O’Donnell’s relationship with Roman Catholicism. It is clear that his understanding of Christian faith is wrapped up tightly with what he learned and experienced growing up in the Catholic Church, especially his education in Catholic schools, including those encounters with rather physically abusive nuns. This schooling introduced Tim O’Donnell to a rather narrow view of faith, one that was rigid and punitive. There were, of course, signs of grace here and there, but these seem to be the exceptions. Although O’Donnell knows that there are other forms of Christianity, including Protestantism, he doesn’t seem interested in them. Like many who emerge from the Catholic context it’s hard to break free of this orbit. As we often hear – once you’re a Catholic always a Catholic, even if you’re a lapsed one. So, much of his argument with institutional Christianity is wrapped up in his experiences of the Catholic Church. Ironically, even though he is disenchanted with traditional Christianity, it is this faith tradition that provides the foundation for his own reflections. This Catholic Faith provides the lenses through which he reinterprets his own experiences.

More problematic in my mind is what I’ll call the “infatuation with Gnosticism” that is so prevalent among many “spiritual but not religious” folks. The idea that the Gnostic texts were excluded from the canon by a narrow minded religious institution seems to give them added authority. Whether it is the recent hullabaloo over the Gospel of Judas or the popularization of gnostic gospels in The Da Vinci Code, the idea that the Church tried to suppress alternative versions of the Jesus story has caught on in the popular mind. In an age that distrusts institutions, this process of canonization, rather than being an example of divine providence, is a sign that the church knows something to be true that they don’t want out. And what is that truth? Well, often the truth is that there is a pathway to God that bypasses the institution. But what we don’t see in this engagement with the Gnostic texts is a recognition that Gnosticism tended to be elitist (after all the Gnostics saw themselves as possessors of secret knowledge), docetic (by and large they denied the value of the physical/material world), and they also tended to be anti-Jewish (Marcion – one of the heroes of Gnosticism – believed that the God of the Old Testament was the creator of the world – which was evil – and not the God of Jesus). The existence of these texts do remind us that the early Christian community was diverse, but I would question the enthusiasm with which their message is being received, without much further examination of them.

The biggest concerns that I have about this movement, which are exemplified by the life of the author, relate to two areas that I think are related. First, there is the issue of a moral/ethical vision, and the second has to do with community.

I’ll deal first with the matter of ethics/moral foundations. Although, the author appears, from his own self-description, to be a man of high moral standards – he exhibits these in his business practices – I’m left wondering about where these standards were derived. My sense is that they were instilled in him by his Catholic upbringing. Despite this, I don’t see much concern for social justice in this understandings of spirituality. He criticizes the Catholic Church for excluding women from the priesthood, but that seems to be part of his overall reaction to the narrowness of the institution. I may have missed something, so I’d be glad to hear from the author about his vision of social justice, but something that did stick out was his rather angry rejection of a statement by a Catholic college professor that wealth was evil. Since the author wants to include Jesus in his own spiritual self-understanding, I’m wondering what he makes of Jesus’ rather regular denunciations of a pursuit of wealth, including his call for the young man to sell all his possessions and give to the poor or his suggestion that one can’t serve God and wealth. So my question is – if I am my own religious authority, who is in the position to challenge my moral/ethical standards?

The final concern that I have about the “spiritual by not religious” movement has to do with the individualism that is prevalent in this movement. O’Donnell, like many in this movement, has essentially created his own religion to fit his own perspectives (yes I know that to some degree we all do this). He is, by his own admission, the author and founder of his faith, which is rooted in the supposition that we are all somehow God incarnate. That is, while he honors Jesus, he believes that we can all be Christs, and he tries to interpret biblical texts in that light. As I read his interpretations of these texts, many of which are filtered through his embrace of the gnostic gospels, I found his interpretations to stretch the meanings beyond what they’re capable of holding, but again my focus isn’t on the doctrinal side of things. My concern is with the individualism that undermines the call to community. O’Donnell doesn’t say this, but there is a sense that if Christ is within us, and that all we need to do to find God is to look within, then why would we need a community? We are essentially spiritually self-sufficient. And if we’re self-sufficient then no one or no institution can challenge my sense of what is true and what is right. In the end, not only is the institution unnecessary (and human-made), but community is unnecessary? But as I read the biblical texts I see in them a call to community. Paul speaks of the church not as institution but as the body of Christ. It is a living being, in which every member is important. I’m wondering what will happen to the spiritual lives of those who have no connection to a community that challenges and supports one as one takes the journey of faith. I struggled with how to respond to this book, because I don’t want to come off as defensive of my tradition or the institution. I must admit that the institution and the tradition needs critique. At the same time, while I found O’Donnell’s book to be a well-written and expressive of his own journey, I believe that there are important questions that need to be posed to those who have embraced this “spiritual but not religious” idea. And these questions need to be asked now while this movement is growing at an increasingly fast pace, so fast that it is in many ways leading to the emptying out of the church that employs folks like me. So, I do have a vested interest in this conversation.

What we on the institutional side of things can learn here is that there is a strong sense of disappointment and frustration among the populace. The traditional institutions aren’t speaking to their hearts or their minds. The question is why? Why do people feel the need to strike out on their own? At the same time, I wonder if this new movement pushes the pendulum of institutionalism too far in the other direction, and what that will mean for people’s journeys as they become less and less connected to traditions once held? These are all questions that I pose to further the conversation, and not cut it off.

This review is offered as part of the TLC Book Tours,

which provided this review copy.